


The Artist of Mandalore

by RoninReverie



Series: Old Kanera Fanfiction [9]
Category: Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: Devaron, F/M, Flashbacks, Garos IV, ketsu onyo - Freeform, stormtroopers - Freeform, zaluna myder - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-17
Updated: 2016-04-17
Packaged: 2019-04-26 05:34:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14395368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoninReverie/pseuds/RoninReverie
Summary: The Chase Arc: 1/4Following a tip from Zaluna Myder, the ever-growing Ghost crew  attempts to recruit another promising member to their group.Meanwhile, Sabine Wren reflects on her past and tries to decide on a future.





	The Artist of Mandalore

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on Tumblr: [Link!](http://roninreverie.tumblr.com/post/142987423694/the-artist-of-mandalore)
> 
>  **IMPORTANT!** This series was written before the second half of season 2 aired on television, so all content is based on my headcanons after season 1 and the "A New Dawn" novel.
> 
> Sabine's backstory is also FAR different based on Season 3 canon fact.

“I can’t believe that Zaluna is eavesdropping on Imperial chatter happening across the galaxy! What was she thinking?”

“I’m actually a little impressed,” Kanan grinned.

“Alright you two…” Zeb sat down with a grumble in his tone, and demanded an explanation. “No more talking in code. Where are we going?”

“Well Zeb—” Hera was the first to speak up. “We’re on our way to Devaron to talk with a local about a possible addition to the crew.”

He scoffed. “You two are just collecting people all over the galaxy, aren’t you?”

Kanan groaned and spun around in his chair.

“We didn’t plan it that way,” he said. “It just sort of happened.”

Chopper grumbled a ‘ _That’s what they all say’_ , prompting an aggravated look from Kanan.

“Easy boys,” Hera warned. “And strap in, we’re entering the planet’s gravity. That means you too, Chopper.”

The droid protested, but locked his feet to the ship floor and complained further.

“Devaronians aren’t so bad, Chop,” Kanan argued. “I’ve known a lot of— _well_  on Gorse they were always— _okay,_  so maybe they aren’t exactly warm and cuddly, but they’re not  _that_  bad.”

“Very convincing,  _dear,_ ” Hera hummed with a roll of her eyes.

Zeb huffed. “The rust bucket has a point. Devaronians aren’t exactly the best company. They’re big, grouchy, aggressive—”

Hera shot him a glance.

“What?”

“Well you can relax, Zeb,” she said, her voice harboring a berating tone. “Our contact may be a Devaronian, but our target is supposed to be a Mandalorian.”

“Yeah, they’re not exactly the best company either…”

“Noted,” Kanan said, turning his attention to the new world that had come into view. “Here’s the coordinates Zaluna’s gave us to meet her contact.”

“Thank you,” she hummed, steering the ship a bit to the right as a little freighter came into view near a port.

“Would we really call him that? She did sort of just stalk the poor guy on the transmitter?” Kanan inched.

Hera shrugged. “That’s Zal for you? We’ll probably leave out the cyber-stalking when we go down there and talk to this guy.”

Chopper and Zeb grumbled and folded their arms in unison. Neither wanting a new crewmate so soon, much less some mystery target recommended by some shady trader on Devaron. 

Zeb had barely spent more than a week on the Ghost and already they were going to recruit another person? What sort of army were Hera and Kanan trying to build here?

Hera flipped a switch and the landing gear slammed into the ground. 

“Here we are,” she said. “You two just sit back and let us do the talking on this one.”

The two in the back retorted, but before they could continue complaining, Kanan cut them off mid-sentance.

“We’re just thinking that it would go better if you two didn’t aggravate the Devaronians…” he added with a grin.

“Yeah right,” Zeb growled, pouting into his chair as he growled under his breath.

Chopper buzzed and folded his retractable arms to match.

Kanan and Hera exchanged a glance and let out an equal sigh of distress.

“Just wait here.”

“We’ll be back in a few minutes,” Hera sighed. “And if we don’t—uh—you two can be—”

“Back-up!” Kanan snapped.

“Yeah,” she nodded. “Back-up.”

“Don’t patronize us!” Zeb snorted.

_BEEP! BOOP! BEEP! BLOOP!_

Zeb chuckled, “What he said.”

Hera groaned, “Let’s just get this over with.”

* * *

 

“Excuse me!” Kanan called.

“I don’t take travelers or give directions!” The green-skinned Devaronian huffed, not even taking the time to look up from his checklist. He motioned a hand for his enforcer droids to continue loading crates into his freighter, and simply said, “Get back on your ship and go away.”

Hera cleared her throat and stepped in closer.

“That isn’t what we’re looking for,” she said. “Are you Cikatro Vizago?”

Curious as to what sort of woman matched such a warming voice, he glanced to the side to notice her and Kanan, and at the sight of her, he lowered the list. Vizago looked Hera over and nodded with an amused grin on his face. 

“Who wants to know?” He smirked.

Kanan butted in with a look of his own. 

“We heard that you’ve been having trouble moving your—” He looked around and gave the large horned man a smirk. “Cargo?”

Vizago squared up to Kanan, towering over him in height, even if you didn’t count his broken black horns. They had tallies carved into them for a quota that Kanan would rather not think about. Not to mention the scars along his face that assured the two members of the growing Ghost crew that Cikatro was no stranger to a good fight. He’d be intimidating if it were anyone else, but Kanan and Hera were immune to his brass nature.

“Like I said,” he repeated with a snarl… “Who’s asking?”

“A friend of ours,” Hera interrupted. “One who watches the interstellar chatter, and took notice of your struggle. We want to help.”

“Any information you have on the Mandalorian girl will bring us one step closer to finding her.”

“Ah, the Corphelion call—I didn’t think anyone was listening in on that.  _I need to fix that…_ ” He grinned and scratched at his ear. “So what are your plans? What are you going to do if you find her, huh?”

“That’s need to know,” Hera stuck her chin up to him. Her stare was the most dominant out of the three, and she made it an effort to show off her command to this Devaronian.

Vizago laughed. “I see who wears the pants in your relationship.”

Kanan rolled his eyes and scoffed… “You have the information we need, or not?”

He held up his hands and smiled, “Very well, droid, give him the coordinates.”

The IG-RM droid handed over a small drive and immediately went back to work.

“This will lead you to the last place we ran into her. She managed to steal a whole shipment from me and did a good number on the Broken Horn…” He groaned and pointed. “What a mess! But there, you have your coordinates. Go and do what you will. I honestly don’t care what you do with her, just get rid of her. She’s bad for business!”

Hera examined the information within the drive and frowned. “What exactly was she doing robbing ships over near Corphelion anyway? Those are Imperial territories. What kind of transport are you running?”

“Weapons,” he snarled. “I get my hands on some weapons and sell to the highest bidder. She didn’t take anything else but a shipment of explosives and a few rounds.”

“Strange,” Kanan pondered. “You think she’s still there?”

“What she stole can not get her far,” Vizago said. “They have a name for her around there—Mandalore, Phindar, Wayland, Corpelion, Garos IV—they call her the Artist of Mandalore. She sticks close to home, but she uses paints to blow up any and everything in order to salvage their wreckage. She is like a Mynock . If the Empire or another trader hasn’t already gotten to her, then you’ll have your chance to catch her.”

“Thanks for the tip,” Hera said.

“Just deal with this rebel and you will have a mutual acquaintance in me.”

Kanan rose a brow. “We talking a business deal?”

“Get rid of the girl, then we’ll talk.” He frowned at Kanan, but smiled to Hera. “I will be completely moved onto Lothal by the time you next see me. I hear a lot going down on that planet. Might be good to have a few insiders under your belt.  _You know how it goes._ ” 

“Lothal?” The word struck Kanan in a strangely familiar sort of way. He wondered what kind of connection that was.

Hera had heard of the planet on her messages from Fulcrum. Lothal needed more help than they were given by the rebellion. If it would compliment her mission, then maybe they just might take the Lothal sector under their wing, but for now the focus had to be on this artist. She sounded like quite the fighter, a wild card—she was just what the rebellion needed. 

Hera nodded, “We’ll think about it…”

He grinned devilishly, but then again, that might just be the way he smiled.

“Might even be a few credits in it for you—if you are worth the time, that is.” 

“Why are you in such a rush to move, anyway, mate?” Zeb asked.

_How long had he been behind them?_

Kanan and Hera turned slowly and shot Zeb a look.

“Just curious?” He shrugged.

Vizago laughed once, and motioned for his bots to finish loading the freighter.

“Business that is need to know.” He lowered his expression. “Now shouldn’t you two and your furry friend here get going?”

Zeb growled.

“I suppose we should,” Hera said. “Let’s go boys.”

“Till next time, then,” Kanan waved.

Vizago looked over the strange crew as their ship took off into the sky. 

“We’ll see about that.”

* * *

 

Kanan plummeted into the co-pilot’s chair and sighed into his hands.

“That was fun!” 

“Zeb,” Hera sighed. “I thought you were going to wait on the ship with Chopper?”

“I got bored,” he shrugged back. “That fella was a charmer, wasn’t he?”

“He might be a little _—gruff?”_  Hera was trying to find a word to describe him. “But, he’s a new source of intel—and if Zal trusts his syndicate, then so do I.” She flipped a few switches and mumbled,  _“Bout as far as I can throw him…”_

“Yeah, me too, I guess?” Kanan huffed. “I don’t like the way he looks at us though.”

“Well?” She made a motion with her hands and set their course. “Let’s just get to this girl before she gets herself arrested.”

“Where do we start?”

“Garos IV,” Kanan said suddenly.

“What makes you so sure?” Zeb asked.

Kanan gave a look to Hera and she nodded.

“He just knows,” she said, punching in coordinates. “We take the Trade Spine up to Hydian Way and start on Garos.”

“Those are dangerous waters,” Kanan said. “Empire is crawling all over that sector.”

“It’s not the first time we’ve faced them head on,” Hera smirked a little.

“I hear that they have mass-executions on Garos—kid wouldn’t be dumb enough to cause trouble there, would she?”

They all exchanged a look and frowned.

“We should get moving. Chopper get us ready for light speed.”  

He booped and obliged.

Hera took off and mumbled, “Hope you have a plan, Kanan.”

“Hey, it’s me?” He said. “I’ll improvise.”

“Yeah, that doesn’t make me feel better.”

* * *

 

“Hmm? It’s  _good_ …” The masked woman said to herself. “But it needs  _something—_?”

She stepped back to admire her work. A firebird, red with flames for wings. It was good, but it still had too much Death Watch in it. She wanted a logo that was all her own…something that hadn’t been captured before…something with a little more  _‘Sabine flair’_ to it.

After escaping with Ketsu they had been leaving their marks all over scores like this one. It was kind of like a signature, a trophy to let everyone know they were there. Even when no one was going to see it, they would remember, and they would know.

_Ketsu Onyo._

Sabine was angry that she was still able to say her name with so little animosity, especially after what she did. But then again, she supposed that she did that with anybody she once called friend— _or family._ She couldn’t forget the good times they once had, no matter how badly they parted ways.

It was hard to believe that they escaped the Madalorian Academy just last year—they spent these last few months on the run, stealing, taking bounties, and making credits enough to earn them a ship that would take them to the Black Sun base on Mustafar.

But on their last mission together, Ketsu left her in the spaceport as they were chased by a dozen angry crooks with guns. She took the credits they stole together, hopped on a ship, and left her for dead without a second thought about it. Her best friend, her sister—she betrayed her, and she’s been on her own ever since. 

Ketsu was probably in the Black Sun gang by now, but Sabine was still scraping and scrapping for food and credits. After Ketsu left and she was on her own, Sabine was managing to survive just fine, but she was struggling to find inspiration artistically. 

Every new piece was missing a certain flair. She could never be satisfied with anything she made, and Sabine wasn’t sure if it was the betrayal or a lack in her own skills, but even the firebird seemed to be missing something.

It was hard enough as it was to graffiti under the flickering street light, but she needed the night for this job. It was too easy to get spotted during the day, but with any hope, she could find the right person to stop and catch her art.

“Hey! You there!” An officer shouted.

His partner also ran her way, shouting, “Back away from that wall and drop the airbrush!”

“As if on cue,” she said, a smile beneath the helmet masking her face.

The Storm Troopers each pointed their blasters up, though the armor-plated teen seemed unfazed and still muddling through her thoughts.

“Hey!” One shouted louder. “Are you deaf, kid?!”

“Don’t make me say it again. Drop it or I’ll fire!”

“That’s it!” She exclaimed suddenly, her hand smacking the top of her fuchsia-colored Mandalorian helmet.

“What’s what?” The Storm Trooper pondered.

The young girl laughed and took three large steps around the troopers, her hands draped around their shoulders as both struggled to look behind at her.

“Take a look,” she motioned towards the wall. “What do you see?”

The trooper growled and shook her off of him.

“I see an Imperial Warehouse vandalized by your rebellious propaganda!” He gripped tighter to his rifle.

“No more games!” The other growled. “You’re under arrest!”

They turned towards her, but she was no longer behind them. In fact, she was nowhere on the entire block.

“Hey! Where’d she go!?”

“You don’t think that was the explosive artist, do you?”

“Probably just some punk, kid,” he replied. “Better call this in.”

The other trooper looked back to the graffiti with a sigh. A big, ugly, red bird…which acted as a poor rendition of the Mandalorian Death Watch symbol mixed with a tireless doodle made for children.

“Just what I’d expect from a Mandalorian,” he grumbled. “I’m the one who’s going to have to clean this off!”

“Maybe we can get the rookies to do it?”

_Beep!_

“No… they’ll never go for that.”

_Beep! Beep!_

“Hey…” The Trooper turned. “Do you hear something?”

_Beep! Beep! Beep!_

“Now that you mention it, I do?” He searched for the sound, blasters drawn as both men backed into the wall.

_BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!_

The mysterious ticking noise grew louder and faster as both troopers turned their heads to look at the tiny, hidden bomb that lay in the center of the graffiti bird. But just as they started to yell and rush off—

**_KA-BOOM!_ **

Down the small hole of wall went, and the troopers were sent face-first into the concrete.

Sabine returned from the shadows, her hand rising from the detonation button on her wrist plate.

“Did I mention that I don’t take kindly to criticism?” She teased, walking past their unconscious bodies and into the newly formed hole in the wall. “I’ll let myself in, I suppose?”

They groaned, but silenced after wars, opening her window before the back-up troopers arrived.

“Score!” She exclaimed upon entry. She saw her game, military grade blasters, explosives, and the tech needed to keep her living comfortably on the go for the next month. She slung the backpack over her shoulder and began filling it to the brim with supplies.

“You’re a little young to be playing with weapons unsupervised, don’t you think?”

“Who said that?” She snarled, her dual pistols raised. “Show yourself.”

“Easy kid,” the voice said again. It was male—authoritative, but honoree. It made Sabine want to punch him. He spoke again and it not help to curb her trigger finger. “I’m not you enemy,” he said.

“You’re just sneaking around dark warehouses in the middle of the night, too?” She rolled her eyes. “Small galaxy!”

A figure appeared suddenly. Sabine wasn’t sure if he gave up his cover on purpose or if he was just really bad at sneaking up on people—although, she wouldn’t consider herself some ordinary damsel that couldn’t see him coming at her in the first place.

“I wouldn’t if I were you,” she warned with a singsong tone in her voice.

A weapon clattered against the ground until sliding into her foot. A single blaster pistol.

“What’s this supposed to be?” She almost laughed. “A surrender already?”

The hooded figure let down his cape and revealed his face to her. Darkened by the shadows, she was able to make out a tan-skinned man with bright teal-colored eyes. The rest of his details were shaded, but he was definitely smiling.

“More of a peace offering,” he said. “I know you’ve been stealing from Imperials lately. And if we were able to track you down—just imagine how long you have until the Empire shows up.”

“I’m shaking,” she rolled her eyes and placed one blaster in her pocket, but kicked the mysterious figure’s gun up into her hand. It didn’t appear to be tampered with. “So you’re what? Double agent? Bounty hunter? Some sort of good Samaritan? Don’t make me laugh.”

“No, not exactly…” He was still smirking. “I’d like to think of us as a mutual alliance, if you’d consider joining the crew?”

“Yeahhhh…” She hummed, “Thanks for the offer old man, but I work alone.”

She sniffed once as something foul met her nose, and she quickly jumped and rolled to the left, her blaster meeting the fuzzy purple flesh of a tall alien twice her build.

“But it seems that you don’t!”

“Uh, Spectre One—” The large purple figure inched.

“Easy kid,” the man said. “That’s just my friend, he doesn’t want to hurt you either.”

“Like you even could,” she sneered at him. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t blast your buddy into Bantha fodder.”

“Because then you wouldn’t be able to take out the squadron of storm troopers closing in on the sounds from your explosion.

“Wait…what?” She had completely forgotten about her window.  _Stupid! Rookie mistake Sabine!_

“Over here!” the distant voices of a storm trooper could be hear from down the block.

“You win this time,” she growled. “Do yourself a favor, and stop following me! Next time, you and your smelly friend won’t be so lucky.”

“Hey!”

“You don’t have to run away. We only want to help you, kid.”

“I don’t need your help.” She threw down smoke pellets and snuck off into the warehouse.

Zeb and Kanan wafted the smoke away as Zeb coughed and grumbled, “Well that went well?”

“Kid!?” Kanan called. 

Her silhouette appeared on the next floor, hovering in the window like an owl perched in the moonlight. 

“They call me the Artist!” Her voice echoed through the darkness. “And don’t call me kid!”

She disappeared from her perch as the clatter of troopers started filling the street outside.

“We have two troopers down. The weapons warehouse 622 has been infiltrated!” One said.

“Alert squadron leader!”

“Some smooth talker you turned out to be…” Zeb grumbled. “I thought you were going to improvise?”

“I’m working on it,” He said defensively. “We have bigger problems if those feds find us in here. Let’s rendezvous with the Ghost and try again. At least now I know what we’re working with…”

They took off running to the other side of the building.

“Being?” Zeb wondered.

“Let’s just say that I’ve dealt with kids like this before…” Kanan grinned. “We’re going to need a better approach if we want to get through to her.”

* * *

 

“Ugh! Crazy sleemo!” Sabine huffed. She tossed her bag into the corner and scattered her score around the floor. “Made me drop about half…” She noticed. “That’ll come back to bite me later, but for now—” She sighed. “I guess it’ll do the trick. Ketsu and I survived on less before…”

She removed her helmet and shooed the stray strands of hair from her face. Her reflection greeted her in the helmet, now pink where it had once been uniformly gray and blue. The academy wouldn’t approve of the paint job—but then again, they didn’t approve much of anything Sabine liked.

They made it a mission to squash her creativity, even as a young child…

* * *

“Alright cadets, fill out your reports quickly and thoroughly, then turn them over and wait for dismissal.”

The test was simple, so simple an infant could complete it—or at least that is what the five year-old Sabine Wren had thought at the time. She breezed through the test and turned her paper to the blank side, sitting at her desk patiently to receive her next orders from the instructor.

She waited, starring at the small parchment of paper, her stylus resting at its side in perfect symmetry to the edges. Perfection, just as she was taught.

But then her eyes started to see designs forming in the white—swirls of color and a story bleeding through the page and filling the paper with its newness. What was this?  _Creativity?_ She wouldn’t know it then, but Sabine was onto something entirely new to her. 

She curiously picked up her stylus and began to follow the lines she saw dancing across the pages, and she let the pen mark the page so it would stay frozen in place.

Before she knew it, her whole parchment was covered in sketches, doodles, and images that were not there just moments before, and yet she made them appear like magic. Young Sabine was so entranced by her work that she didn’t notice her instructor’s footsteps, and she didn’t realize that she had pulled her paper away from the desk.

“What is this, Cadet Wren?” he looked it over.

She stood up and looked nervously up at him. She wasn’t quite sure how to respond. She shot a brief look to Ketsu for help, but she was just as helpless.

“I’m not sure…” Sabine said meekly.

“Not sure?” He repeated. “And why is it that you are unsure?”

“I—” she stammered. “I just sort of drew it out… I saw it on the paper and I drew it. Was that wrong?”

“Was that wrong?” He said almost mockingly.  He flipped the test over and let his lip pucker as he noticed every answer on the page was correct and uniform. “You are very wise, young Wren.”

She looked to him with a newfound brightness in her eyes. Students very rarely got compliments at the academy.

“Thank you sir!”

Her smile dropped when he crumpled up her test and placed in in his black gloved hand behind his back.

“Do not waste your talents on doodles. Now sit down and start your test again.”

Sabine thought she might cry, but that wasn’t allowed, so she nodded and sat back down, pulling out another piece of paper to re-do her test.

“Y-yes sir,” was all she said.

She filled out the page again, looking up only once to see the instructor take her drawings and throw it into the incinerator can that he kept next to his desk. 

As it burned away in fire, Sabine cringed and tried to focus on her work. Although, she was distracted by the colors in the flames, the texture of the paper as the fire consumed it. There was almost something powerful behind her drawing burning away in the fire…like a fragile bond from her that met an even stronger, more beautiful end.

That was how it started, and perhaps that was the reason why she continued to make doodles throughout her academy years, even though it got her into trouble with her instructors. There was something she loved in just simply watching them burn.

* * *

It would be a few years until she was called into the headmaster’s office for her drawings. At last one teacher had become fed-up with Sabine’s constant doodles—although her skills and grades were always too good to have her punished by more violent means. There was still plenty against her that served reason to send her to get scolded.

“You wanted to see me, headmistress,” Sabine said, her stance at attention in the doorway.

“Yes, at ease young cadet,” she said. “Your instructor has told me what a brilliant girl you are Sabine… but you were caught wasting time doodling on your tests again.”

Sabine looked to the floor.

“Come over to my desk, Cadet Wren.”

The walk was even longer than she’d thought. A march of shame led only to whatever punishment rested with the headmaster at the other side of the long, dark room. When at the desk, Sabine stood a little over eye-level with the headmaster’s table. 

She swallowed, cringing even as the woman slammed down a piece of paper on top of the table.

“Draw something for me,” she ordered.

“But headmaster—” Sabine argued.

“Do as you are told!” Her voice rose, and Sabine picked up the pencil and drew without another breath of defiance. When done, she let the stylus fall and she took a step back from the page.

The headmaster picked it up and surveyed it with a disapproving scowl on her face.

“Just as I thought,” she said. “Your childish doodles could one day lead you to the makings of a decent mapmaker, an architect, or perhaps even a survey analyst.”

“Really?” Sabine replied. “I mean, wow! I never imagined my drawings could ever—”

“Oh yes,” She interrupted. “These are hideous but the potential for something useful is there, we will have to nurture it, during your lunch periods while you are in detention.”

Sabine froze in place. While it could have been worse, there was nothing quite like a slap to her ego in the way the headmistress managed to do.

The headmaster continued… “But a warrior you will be above all else, a leader in time, and perhaps when you are old and gray, we can have use for you in the planning process for future missions.”

“Oh,” was all she said.

“Focus on your studies, young Wren, and do not let me hear of you slacking off again, else your punishment be severe, is that understood?”

Sabine bowed.

“Yes headmistress.”

“Good, now get back to your classes.”

* * *

Sabine scoffed and threw the helmet down.

Her parents had always loved her creativity—they told her so when they first started forging their armor. She can remember that time, she can remember being happy, but the rest was fuzzy… She was trained from birth basically in the ways of a warrior, but while her parents were strict they were also very compassionate and nurturing towards her.

The last few nights she spent with them stuck with her all this time. It was when they told her that she would be going to the Academy. 

She wouldn’t learn that it was all a grand deal with the ruler of Mandalore until she eventually made her escape. She wouldn’t know that the Empire had made plans to execute her family for “knowing too much” of the dark secrets of Concord and events that happened during the Clone Wars. Sabine wouldn’t even know until after she became a bounty hunter, that her name and house would one day be seen as a family of traitors to the eyes of everyone on Mandalore—no, back then everything was always so simple.

* * *

“Sabine, you are going to go away for a little while,” her mother had said.

It was so long ago—she was so young that she didn’t even remember what her mother’s face looked like anymore. She remembered only her eyes and the color of her hair—mostly because she knew that those were the two things she inherited from her.

“It is tradition for the house of Vizla to forge their armor together. We would like to carry on this tradition before you go.” Her father said.

She remembered his voice, low and soft. She remembered his mouth, the soft frown it always wore, tired and withered, the slight wrinkles forming at the corners of his lips.

They spent the entire weekend casting armor, smelting the metal and carving the details. They deliberately made it too big so she could grow into it, but her mother described very carefully how she would be able to re-size it with the proper equipment.

That was the last time she remembered them all being together, laughing, creating this bond as a family.

The next day the Storm Troopers showed up at her home, and they took her off of the moon she was raised and down to the planet Mandalore where they placed her in the academy. 

She never saw her family again, and she would spend close to six years in training before receiving the news of their fall in combat. It would be three more weeks until she was granted clearance to their will, always waiting for a funeral that could never be held due to the harsh methods in which they died. They would only give her the scarred over Nightowl helmet from her mother, and a long list of questions that she would never know the answers to.

That is, until she learned that the Empire killed her parents and her mother struck a deal with the headmistress in order to spare Sabine’s life. Everythng she once knew, a lie and clouded deception.

* * *

But killing was just what the Empire did. It was what they were trained to do, what she was trained to do. She often remembered the first death she’d ever watched—the first time she saw the light leave someone’s eyes up close. His face haunted her at night, and it never ceased to remind her of what a horrible person she was becoming at that Academy.

* * *

“Don’t shoot! I beg of you!”

She could still see the look of plea in the man’s silver eyes, the wrinkles of worry that spread across his face. Her father might say that there was wisdom in those creases, but what kind of wisdom, she wondered?

“Beg all you want rebel scum,” Sabine said, her blaster pointed at him as he sit on his knees in the floor. “You’re not going to kill any more of our troops!”

“The Empire has you brainwashed child, can’t you see?” He said. “Killing our village, it will not stop the fighting!”

“Maybe not, but every small sacrifice is worth another day to the Empire’s cause.”

That was what they had told her at the academy anyway. Would killing this small crop of activists really amount to the Empire’s favor? Imprisonment, sure—reconditioning, absolutely. But even with that thought in the back of her mind, she still pointed her blaster as her fellow students and headmaster collected the refugees in other buildings.

“There are alternatives to killing, young one.”

Sabine heard his words and it was like a switch. That’s what she had thought, what she was afraid to suggest. An alternative to killing. Just hearing him say so made her lower the blaster a small angle—

_PEW!_

Sabine’s hand trembled but only just slightly as the man’s body hit the floor and his corpse reflected into the grey and blue shine in her helmet. She’d never actually taken a life before—and to her relief, she still hadn’t.

“Ketsu! Why did you do that, I had him!?” Sabine yelled.

“Had him?” She chortled. “Please.” She stood a whole foot taller than Sabine already, and towered over her as she pointed the hilt of her gun into Sabine’s armor. “Don’t be so soft little sister. Weakness doesn’t cut it out here and you know it. If I were the headmaster you would be in so much trouble for letting him get into your head like that.”

“I wasn’t soft…” Sabine argued. “And he wasn’t in my head!”

Ketsu scoffed, “Yeah, uh huh…”

“Wren! Onyo!” the drill leader called. “Is this vicinity clear of rebels?”

“Yes ma’am!” They both straightened out, their arm plates slamming against the leg pieces in a satisfactory sound of unified reform.

“Very good. Report back in 0800—dismissed.”

Onyo nudged her sister and removed her helmet as soon as the headmaster had gone.

“Close call, and once again I saved your sorry hide,” she teased.

“As if!” Sabine growled. She removed her own helmet and wiped off a small splatter of blood with her thumb. The red blended with the metal to make a harsh pink color that just wouldn’t rub out.

Ketsu gave her a light smack with her helmet and placed it back on her head.

“Watch yourself—You think the Black Sun will take to your habits, you’re wrong. If you ever expect us to get out of this dump, then you need to decide whose side your going to be on at the end of the day. Mine?” She pointed down. “Or theirs?”

Sabine growled and looked into the corner.

“It’s kill or be killed,” Ketsu said as she left the small hut. “Remember that.”

This was their fifth outing at the Academy. The first was a simple recon mission, the next a scouting trip, then they surprised everyone with a trip to Courascant, and then it was a tour of a starship known as the Ravager. But this was their first actual mission to the front lines, the first time they were allowed to put their skills from the academy to use—and as much as she’d hate to prove Ketsu right, Sabine froze.

She headed for the door herself, but looked back at the dead man in the floor of his home, wondering for the first time in her life if this—was this really the right thing to do?

* * *

 

You can’t trust anyone—not completely. Sabine knew that and she was only thirteen. Heck, half the galaxy knew that, so why did that cocky man and his smelly bodyguard try to lie to her face like that? what could they possibly want from her? Probably a bounty. They probably worked for the Academy or for Ketsu. They couldn’t be trusted.

Sabine examined the man’s blaster, small, Western design, probably from the Outer Rim? It was nothing special. She shoved it into the bag and curled up in the corner of her hideout. 

It was a dark, abandoned scrap of ship wreckage stuck in the scrapyard of Garos IV. As always it greeted her with cold, dark, and dust, but for now it was home.

She couldn’t let the strange man from earlier get to her, nor could she allow Ketsu or the Academy to weasel back into her head. Sabine focused only on the happy time she had with her mother and father when they forged their armor together. She thought of them and only the sweet thought of when she would finally be able to fly away from this sector and start over somewhere where the name Wren would no longer be a reminder of the person she once was. 

With that in mind, she yawned and eventually drifted off to sleep.

* * *

 

“So,” Hera hummed. “How’d it go?”

“Pretty lousy, I’d say,” Zeb stretched. “Kid wants nothing to do with us. Ran off the first chance she got.”

Kanan sighed and fell into the galley bench with a gruff groan.

“That good huh?” She replied.

“She’s not going to open up to us without a fight,” he said. “She’s stubborn, reckless, and—”

“A lot like you?” Hera finished.

He met her eyes and she smiled softly until he sat up and nodded.

“Yeah…”

“Well, did you plant the tracker?”

“Inside the gun like Kanan said,” Zeb replied. “Thought she was going to find it, the way she was searching it over.”

“Just like we planned,” Hera yawned. “So long as she keeps Kanan’s blaster, we’ll be able to find her.”

“So maybe we should all get some sleep?” Kanan suggested.

“With as many Imperials as this place has,” Zeb chuckled, “Can’t say that I’ll be getting much rest.”

“All the more reason to sleep while we can,” Hera stressed. “So let’s go, you too Chopper! I’ll need you at full power tomorrow!”

Chopper argued, but ultimately did as he was told.

“Oh, and Zeb—” Hera blurted.

He stopped and turned to them in the doorway.

“We wanted to apologize for leaving you out of the loop these last few days.”

“We aren’t used to having a crew around,” Kanan rubbed his neck. “But, we’re going to start acting like one, so don’t worry about being left out anymore.”

He smirked once and nodded. 

“Alright, sounds fair,” he yawned. “These last few days have been a fun change of pace. Don’t you two worry. I’m not going anywhere, you’re just going to have to get used to it.”

They smiled at him and he stretched out his joints. He groaned and shot them a quick wave before heading towards his room. “G’night then.”

“Night Zeb.”

“Goodnight Zeb.”

When he was gone, Kanan placed his elbows on the table and folded his hands over his mouth.

“Hera,” He started. “Do you really think Zal knew what she was talking about—this girl—she’s going to be a handful.”

She took a seat beside him and leaned on his shoulder.

“Between you, a grouchy Lasat, and a droid that never listens—” she chuckled, her voice soft and sweet like always. “—I think she’ll fit right in.”

He placed his arm around her and leaned his face on top of her head.

“What was she like?” Hera asked.

“Young,” Kanan breathed. “Maybe thirteen at most. She’s brash, trigger happy, and she likes to blow things up and steal weapons from Imperial storage. Her armor is decaled, Nightowl helmet, and by her responses she was probably raised on Concordia.” He shrugged. “But she’s different, they don’t call her the Artist of Mandalore for nothing. I think ‘tough’ would be a good word to describe her?”

“I can see why Zaluna was so intrigued,” she sighed and her voice shifted into worry. “I sure hope that she has a safe place to sleep.”

“She’ll be alright,” he replied, remembering all those nights he had spent on the run before meeting Janus Kasmir, Okadiah, or Hera. Without knowing it, he started to chuckle.

“What’s so funny?”

He smiled and shot her one of his legendary smirks.

“Can we stop after this one? I don’t think I can handle three kids  _and_  Chopper.”

“Oh ha, ha.” Hera smirked and punched him in the arm before rising to head to her room. “Now get some sleep, we’ll try again with her in the morning.”

“Alright,” he held up his hands in surrender. “Good night, Hera.”

“Goodnight Kanan,” she said back.

Kanan sat in the galley for a few silent moments before rising from the table to turn off the lights. 

“What kind of mess have we gotten ourselves into now?”


End file.
